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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978561">Saint John</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AinhoaCR/pseuds/AinhoaCR'>AinhoaCR</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>6000 years of Art [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Art, Aziraphale and Leonardo were friends, Inspiration, Love, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:35:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27978561</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AinhoaCR/pseuds/AinhoaCR</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, an angel and a genius met and were friends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>6000 years of Art [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Saint John</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Florence, 1510<br/>
“Ah, Master Aziraphale, I am pleased to find you here. Did you have a good trip from Rome?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale turned to meet his interlocutor. The man was one of those extraordinary extravagances that chance and time sometimes give to humanity: architect, inventor, landscaper, painter. Master Leonardo was the epitome of a Renaissance man; always investigating, always improving, always wanting to go further, surpassing the limits, studying man and nature.</p>
<p>Aziraphale had an excellent appreciation for the gentleman in front of him. Not only because Leonardo was passionate about the written word and a great conversationalist. Moreover, Leonardo’s innate curiosity and his desire to know, to continually ask himself questions and to question established knowledge reminded him of another, someone to whom despite time and distance, he could not forget. It was extraordinary because the two men were nothing alike. Leonardo was strong built, sturdy, of medium height. At that time, when he was around 60 years old, he liked to wear his long hair, already more than streaked with white, loose, when the rest of the men preferred to wear their hair very short. He also wore with great dignity, and to the mockery of the court, a long white beard, which on the whole gave him the appearance of a mystic, a magician. That rebellion, even in something as seemingly insignificant as that, made Leonardo one of Aziraphale’s favourite people.</p>
<p>“Master Leonardo, what a joy to see you again,” Azirafel said, taking him by the shoulders. The two men had known each other for a long time, and if Leonardo had noticed that Aziraphale did not age, he had refrained from commenting on it. Leonardo was a discreet man, which caused many people to make him the confidant of their troubles, asking him for advice about this and that. The Master knew that if Aziraphale wanted to explain himself, he would have already done so. However, being a wise man, he sensed that his friend was concerned about something.</p>
<p>“Come in and sit down, please. You will have a glass of wine with me, right?” Leonardo asked, pointing to a pair of ottomans. “We have a lot to talk about, it’s been some time since our last meeting, and I can’t wait for you to update me on the latest news. Have you heard of these new lands that the madman of that Genovese, Columbus, has discovered? A whole new continent, I was told. Ah, if I were thirty years younger. What wonders that new place must hold.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled. Leonardo was right. The new continent was vast, almost as large as everything that was known so far. It had high peaks and vast grasslands, frozen lakes and sweltering deserts. It was a great orchard that had remained hidden and safe from the eyes of Europeans. He couldn’t say that to Leonardo, obviously, so he just nodded, a grin on his lips.</p>
<p>“But sit down, sit down, tell me how your life is treating you, Master Aziraphale. Forgive my rudeness, but I see you somewhat distressed.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale took a seat, accepting the wine Leonardo offered him.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what do you mean, Master. My life is complete. My commissions, my searches for manuscripts, for knowledge, keep me very busy. I have enough to live comfortably, I can afford small luxuries like a good wine or a good meal, and I have friends like you. What more can I ask for?”</p>
<p>Leonardo looked at his friend. The man had always seemed an enigma in himself. Of course, Leonardo was a man of science, but he had always found Aziraphale to possess a quality that was difficult to describe. When he tried, the word “timelessness” came to his mind. He could imagine him perfectly in the ancient Rome of the Caesars or wearing armour in ancient Britain. There was something not precisely earthy about the beauty of his features, balanced and serene, or the soft texture of his curls, white as the soft down of swans. Angelic, perhaps, if that word did not seem a bit absurd, weak, fragile.</p>
<p>Uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his friend, Aziraphale got up from the ottoman. With the excuse of seeing the new commissions, he strolled through the workshop, admiring the works that were disseminated and half-finished.</p>
<p>Suddenly one of them caught his attention. It was just a sketch, barely expressed lines ...</p>
<p>“Master, this work here ...”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah. A commission. A religious theme. A Saint John. I wanted to recreate the same sfumatto as in previous works, but there is something that does not quite fit. He is a difficult boy, this Saint John.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale nodded, still slightly disturbed. The few outlined lines reminded him of him, the sunken cheeks, the angular jaw, the playful grin and the alluring gaze that made his pulse race. Ah, if only he could rip that feeling from his chest. The only thing that brought him was pain and despair.</p>
<p>He changed the subject, and after a while, making an excuse, he left, lost in his thoughts.</p>
<p>The days went by, and Azirafel went every day to Leonardo’s workshop, who, taking some advice from his friend, was defining the canvas in front of him. The hair a little longer, curlier, redder. The sharper cheeks, the look between sweet and mocking.</p>
<p>One day, he came for the last time.</p>
<p>“Master Leonardo, I come to say goodbye. New acquisitions await me in the north, in Ghent. I must say goodbye to you for the moment. It was a pleasure to see you again.</p>
<p>“Ah, Master Aziraphale. I’m sorry to hear that, but I hope your trip is fruitful. Do you want to take one last look at our Saint John?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale sighed but agreed. At the back of the workshop, Leonardo accompanied him to the painting. Aziraphale’s heart stopped in his chest. So real, so close. He closed his hands into fists, resisting the temptation to run his knuckles across the saint’s cheeks. How blasphemous and sinful and pure at the same time.<br/>
“f I could give it to you, I would, you know? I think it belongs to you more than anyone else in this world. I believe your presence and company have inspired me in ways that nothing has ever inspired me before. It was like a force guiding my arm. Very strange. I would almost say that Heaven has sent one of its own to help me” Leonardo noted with all the intention.</p>
<p>Aziraphale smiled</p>
<p>“Master Leonardo, such a bizarre thing to say ...”</p>
<p>Aziraphale never saw Leonardo again. When he heard of his death, he was very far from Amboise, in Leipzig, watching over the young Martin Luther. Aziraphale deeply regretted not having been able to say goodbye to Leonardo, and wondered briefly where the painting of Saint John was, his painting, Crowley’s painting ...</p>
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